


Behind the Pants

by CherryBlossomMonologues



Category: Great Teacher Onizuka
Genre: (believe it or not), Bittersweet, Other, Trans Character, Unreliable Narrator, not for the easily offended among us, sexist language and a slew of other vulgarities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryBlossomMonologues/pseuds/CherryBlossomMonologues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tragic love story told from the point of view of Onizuka's most, uhh, <i>important</i> asset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Pants

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2002.

Hey, what’s up?  (Well, I’m certainly not right now, that’s for damn sure!)  Nice to make your acquaintance and all that jizz.  Oops, “jazz,” I meant “jazz.”  Really I did.  Really.  Umm…where exactly are you looking?  Just ignore _his_ mug for now—let’s get up close and personal, just the two of us.  I’m right down here.  Look _this_ way.  Further.  _Further_.  That’s right, keep on going, yep, yep—stop.  Oh, are you surprised?  Don’t worry, you can call me whatever you want.  Cock, dick, penis, organ, length, member, schlong, dong, chinpo, it’s all the same—Onizuka Eikichi Jr. 22 years old.  A pleasure.  (At least, I’d like it to be.)

Yeah, just you keep on looking.  I’m a handsome piece of meat, ain’t I?  Long and thick.  Abundant, creamy olive foreskin.  A nice, blunt head perfect for thrusting that swells out magnificently when I’m hard and blushes a deep rose.  I’ve seen many a man eye me jealously in the shower room.  Must’ve been imagining the conquests I’ve had and the moist, fragrant places I’ve been.  I shrivel with embarrassment, no, downright humiliation, at the awful truth.

He’s still a virgin.  Can you believe it?  What a loser to be attached to.  I’m a neglected son.  (I’ve never had a real home…need I say more?)  I wanna sue ol’ daddy boy.  Hell, if I had rights under the auspices of the Japanese constitution, I probably would.  Just thinking about it so pisses me off.  And it ain’t like he hasn’t had any good chances, neither.  Take that Nana chick who shacked up in Onizuka’s apartment that one time.  Damn but she was hot, and she would have invited me right in, all hot and soft and yielding.  Hell, she even offered.  Politely, too.  I’m getting engorged just remembering.  What was that asshole _thinking_ not taking her up on such a sweet deal?

Alright, alright.  In all fairness, he doesn’t really neglect me completely.  Onizuka subscribes to a regular diet of porno and Penthouse…ya know, all of the best, most scrumptious junk food.  He also gives great (yeah, in that way, at least, he lives up to his nickname) hand jobs.  At least once a day.  If not twice.  Or three times.  (An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away.)  My main man treats me the best he can.  He knows just how to twist his fingers and rub my glans, all the stuff that leaves me quivering and weeping with joy.  He even has one of them artificial cunts that he saves for special occasions.  (Apparently, it cost a lot, so he doesn’t want to wear it out.  I’m just too enthusiastic.)  Of course, none of it changes the fact that I, or rather _we_ , don’t get any.  I sure as hell wish he’d lose just enough of that high and mighty attitude to get us both good and laid.

Okay, I know _all_ about it.  He thinks he’s a big schoolteacher now, and he can’t go around humping any girl that catches his eye.  (Even if he _is_ surrounded by them twenty-four seven.)  And, yeah, he insists with all of his little gooey heart that he wants “the first time to be special.”  (Even if he threw himself on Fuyutsuki-sensei and actually begged for it when he thought he was dying.)  Yeah, whatever you say.  Don’t expect me to swell up with pride at any mention of his “virtues.”  _I’m_ Onizuka’s precious member— _I know better!_   And, well, hate to break it to you, Eikichi, but _any_ time would be special for me.

Actually, I’ll let ya in on a little secret.  The closest he ever got to getting completely laid was way before he ever came to Tokyo, back in those glorious ol’ days in Shonan.  With the beautiful but mysterious Misato-chan.  Or, rather, “mysterious” to Onizuka.  I knew her deal from the very beginning.  You might call it penile intuition, I suppose.  In any case, I had nothing at all to do with his attraction to her, and all that kissy-kissy stuff in the photo sticker booth, not to mention the time that he invited her to the love hotel, was all _his_ fault.  Not mine.  Not mine at all.  And, he should have known better.  He _did_ know better, but he couldn’t help himself.  In fact, the whole relationship to begin with was based upon something very overrated these days—True Love.  That’s right.  Capital letters an’ everything.  Our beloved bleach-haired chain smoking prep-schoolteacher asshole was _in love_.

Ah, but what am I talking about?  Who am I to pass judgment?  Just a dick.  No authority in the stupid subject of hearts and starry eyes an’ stuff like that.  Anyway, she jilted him and left for Tokyo, leaving poor Onizuka crying miserably in an empty train station with a duffel bag of clothes and a now-useless one-way ticket out of that taco stand.  All over.  Owari.  Finis.  Kaput.  Or, at least, that’s what I thought.  I mean, people often accuse Onizuka of thinking with his crotch, but, in reality, we penises are very smart.  Yes, we are.  _Believe_ it.  After all, we know what we like.   And Misato wasn’t it at all.  I never wanted into her hole, no matter how desperate to find a permanent home (or at the very least a short stopover vacation spot).  Although…over the years I’ve been more desperate than ever…I might almost reconsider if only…err, never mind.  First things first.  See, problem is, Onizuka is in Tokyo now, too, and it’s a small world after all.  (Gimme that theme music, man!)

Due to obvious differences in vantage point, he saw her first.  Prowling around red-light districts after dark to cop a look or two never hurt anyone, but somehow Onizuka always seems to be at the wrong place at just the right time.  The hair was what first caught his eye, I’m sure.  A soft sweep of chestnut brown locks piled up on the top of the head.  A head on a very tall, slim, shapely body, that is.  Misato to the max.  And what did our beloved Eikichi do?  Why, tremble in his boots like a nancy boy and duck behind the very short skirt of the nearest prostitute.  What else?

As my dear sweet Eikichi’s never one to do something intelligent, of course the chaste young woman screamed bloody murder (after she had asserted by cupping and fondling me a few times that I wasn’t the one in charge at the moment) and drew the eyes of everyone within earshot.  Including Misato.  Who then ran full-tilt away from us.

Onizuka went after her.  Goes without saying, doesn’t it?  Once he’s fixated upon something, he never gives it up, and even my shriveling to an acorn-sized bud doesn’t give him a hint.  Totally clueless to the needs of his true significant other.  Anyways, I think we can skip over the whole pursuit narrative thingie.  All shounen manga heroes eventually get what they want, and so does GTO.  Do you really wanna know about how Onizuka nearly decapitated Vice Principal Uchiyamada with a frying pan?  Or lost his balance and rammed me hard up against some very promising cleavage?  Saved a damsel in distress from rape, humiliation, and a very sore ass? Or gave money to charity?  Brought about world peace?  Nah.  Who needs it, right?  Nothing new.  We’ve seen it all before.

But Misato, well, we haven’t seen her since the last chapters of _Shonan Junaigumi_.  She might be very old news, but new news about old news is always welcome.  Suffice to say, she did a quick about-face and was surprisingly happy to see dear ol’ Eikichi-kun and invited him back to her apartment in order to reminisce.  In fact, it all seemed rather, shall we say, _incongruous_ to me.  (Yeah, we male members can use big words too—like kokusaikankeigaku.)  At first, everything was okay, and she kept a safe distance away from me.  Served him hot tea and everything, and Onizuka was polite enough to all parties not to spill any on me or on Misato’s charming pink rug. 

Yes indeedy, her apartment was quite pink.  And her bed was very pink.  There is just something wrong with a bed that looks as soft and inviting as a woman’s cunt and is exactly the same color, too.  Misato’s bed looked like a vagina that is perpetually hot and bothered.  It was even kinda heart-shaped.  That one big pillow in the center with its pillowcase falling half-off sure did look like an erect clitoris.  (My female twin star, the clitoris—so cute and cuddly that I just wanna drool love juice all over her.)  Really is a shame though, considering how much time she must have invested into designing such a unique bed, that Misato doesn’t have a cunt to call her own.

Oh, my bad.  Did I forget to mention?

Yep, that’s right, folks.  Misato is an okama.  Granted, she’s a beautiful one, some might even say drop-dead gorgeous or ethereally lovely or seductively angelic or any other endless streams of useless poetry used to describe something or someone so perfect that it defies description.  But it doesn’t change the simple fact that she is a chick with a dick.  Or, should I say a dude with boobs?  Yeah, that’s much more accurate.  Whatever it is, even the slightest thought of sleeping with her makes me wish that Onizuka were a eunuch.  Ya know, maybe so that he could sing soprano for the rest of his life.  ’Cause I don’t want to be here.  And if I had a mouth, I’d be shrieking trills of protest right now.

Picture this (or not, as you like):  Misato has her mouth on me.  She has seduced Onizuka into that pink nightmare of a bed and is coaxing me to rise.  Her tongue pushes back my protective foreskin and teases my glans.  I’m not responding, to say the least.  Seeing that she needs to be more aggressive, she takes the full length of me into her mouth (an impressive feat, I must say with pride, even when I’m flaccid) and begins to suck, tonguing my piss slit and sliding her lips ever-so-slowly up and down my shaft.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t feel good at all; I refuse, absolutely refuse, to get hard for an okama, and I flop about impotently in Misato’s mouth, hoping she’ll take the hint.

Eventually, she gives up on blowjobs.  Still, she doesn’t give up on Onizuka, and he doesn’t seem ready to quit quite yet either, though he is apologizing and kow-towing on behalf of Jr.’s disobedient behavior.  Instead, he kisses her and touches her and wipes away her tears as she comes into Onizuka’s hand.  (His right hand.  The “old reliable” isn’t going to be reliable anymore, buster.)  Afterwards, they lie in her bed, and Misato cries harshly because she knows, and Onizuka, thank all the gods in Heaven and Hell, knows too, that it just isn’t going to work.  Onizuka’s heart might be consenting, but his penis is not.  Guess we know which one is more important after all?  Ha, ha!  Which one of us is standing up with his head high now, Eikichi ol’ boy?  He leaves her in the morning, and though I know he wants to tell her he loved her and still does, he doesn’t…because it hurts too damn much. 

Shit, I know he is going to punish me.  Won’t jerk off for at least a week after this.  Guilt city, man.  Lose the guilt, and we’ll all be better off.  GTO Jr. has feelings too.

So, I guess this isn’t the resolution you wanted, eh?  Yeah, well, life’s a bitch, and then you turn to us genitals to escape from your sorrows in an explosive hormonal rush.  Word is on the streets that an okama was found dead in her bathroom, draped over her bathtub, her slit wrists swimming in a pool of bathwater and blood.  Just another dead, depressed tranny prostitute, the authorities say.  Probably better off dead anyway.  What kind of life could she hope for?  Wouldn’t be gossip at all if it weren’t for the fact that, so the rumor goes, this okama in question was the most beautiful in entirety of Tokyo, if not Japan or even the world.  They say that intersex individuals of all varieties throughout Tokyo are mourning her loss.  Still, it’s just a rumor.  Who knows if it’s true?  Oh yeah, but please don’t tell Onizuka.  There are some things that only your penis should know.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Additional disclaimer: Forgive me for stating the obvious, but please remember that, in fiction, the narrator and the narrator’s views do not necessarily equal the author and the author’s views.


End file.
